


We Tripped the Light

by middlemarch



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Conversations, F/M, Family, Humor, Names, home-brew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 15:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: A bit of cat-and-mouse...





	We Tripped the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts).



“I spoke to Uncle Aubrey today,” Sam said. Andrew smiled at her, just for speaking it seemed, as she hadn’t said anything truly noteworthy yet and his father gave her the quick nod she remembered from a thousand days, a million hours of moments.

“He asked to be remembered to you, sir,” she added. _Sir_ slipped out before she could stop it, though she bit her lip as if she could bite the word itself back. Andrew shook his head at her, still grinning, and she waited for the reminder.

“Christopher. They say practice makes perfect,” Foyle said. Once she would have given her eye-teeth to hear him say such a thing and now she only blushed to be told again. And to imagine actually saying it without any self-consciousness. She glanced at him and saw he understood it all, her consternation and embarrassment and how it had been the secret wish of her heart and she felt something devilish take hold of her. The Stewart vicars did not run much to angels and devils, but Sam felt they had perhaps been unfairly discarded with Popishness. They would explain a lot and could be held responsible for the irresistible idea that popped into her head. 

“Well, then, Christopher, Uncle Aubrey said he looked forward very much to seeing you again and as you’d enjoyed it so the last time he visited, he’d be sure to bring you an entire case of his greengage liqueur the next time he comes up,” Sam replied. Andrew only followed the outline of the exchange, she could see that in his expression, he hadn’t the faintest about the true import of what she’d said, but he liked her spirit and the volley. Christopher only looked bemused and, she could not help thinking, somehow palely viridian at the memory of the sticky, stinging, emerald alcohol, the distillation of nausea and acid.

“I’ll make sure to set some space aside then when he comes for the ecumenical convocation. Next year,” Foyle said, rallying. Perhaps he reassured himself Uncle Aubrey would forget by then. He didn’t know him all that well to imagine it, Uncle Aubrey never forgot a trick her mother always said, and he certainly never forgot anything to do with his brewing. One might almost think him a misplaced wizard with his potions and still.

“Not next year. Next week,” Sam said, keeping her mouth prim but aware her cheeks were flushed again, even redder than before. “He was rather waffling about whether to come up on another errand and I told him how much you’d like to see him, how much you liked the liqueur.”

“Exceedingly,” Christopher said, his own eyes bright. “I must say, you’ve the makings of a perfect daughter-in-law, Sam. As such, you might help me decide just what to do with your uncle’s generous…gift.”

“I might,” she agreed and then she and Andrew burst out laughing and Christopher chuckled, a sound she’d never heard before, a sound that made him Christopher and not sir.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this scrap stands alone but it goes better with a piece by Kivrin which is now on Tumblr and I hope will appear here soon. I've played with "what will Sam call Foyle when she marries Andrew?" before but it's still fun.
> 
> The title is from the song "Aubrey" by Bread. It is about a girl but I thought I could make it work.


End file.
